BABIES AREN’T ZEN

I glance over in the coffeeshop and a little old lady with a floral-patterned bag is peering at her white MacBook and a patient bearded guy is explaining things to her. The three icons on her desktop–for the hard drive and two spreadsheets–were each as large as my fist, magnified almost to the point of absurdity.

Someday, I will be that old lady.

1. “What is Twitter?”
2. “How much does an iPhone go for nowadays?”

If you’re female and under 87, you’ve probably seen the Facebook ads for the app Sorority Life, which should have had any one of these alternate titles:

• Sorority Death
• ZOMG You Loved House Bunny, Too?
• My Life Peaked With Bulimia and Painted-On Jeans and I’m Clinging Desperately to the Vodka-Tinged Memories

My extensive personal experience rom-com viewing suggests sororities are the apex of all that is shallow, flamingo-pink, and snootily exclusive based on wealth, class, and arbitrary standards of beauty, so why would I subject myself to a virtual version of a special circle of hell I purposefully avoided IRL? Something tells me Sorority Life doesn’t seek to re-create those mythical benevolent sororities that, like, pick up trash and feed it to homeless people.

I like shopping. I like shoes. And I freely admit to owning Barbie-pink nail polish. But until you show me a sorority-themed Facebook app in which I can also set things on fire and suckerpunch a black bear, I’ll continue thinking Sorority Life is a worthless, vapid repackaging of rigid and archaic gender roles.

Miss Switzerland picked damp cashews off of the napkin. They were damp because she had eaten several but had to stop because they were so salty, and decided rinsing the salt off would render the cashews more edible. While rinsing them off she got the distinct impression what she was doing was ridiculous, and akin to something ridiculous she had done once and been ridiculed for. She kept rinsing the cashews. While patting them dry between two napkins she felt victorious and successful and smug. “Take that, haytas,” she said in her mind to all the people who doubted she could successfully rinse and consume the cashews. After eating about seven off of the napkin, they were still slimy, as if they had been barfed up by a camel. When no one was looking, Miss Switzerland wadded them up between the napkins and threw them away.

ARE shoes better than sex? Completely overlooking the gratuitous Ys in the author’s obvious pseudonym, let’s take a look.

Shoes: never lead to children; can last a lifetime; come in different colors

Sex: free; requires no interaction with snooty salespeople; less often leads to bunions

Shoes and sex: can but don’t necessarily help you get somewhere

I think shoes are ahead by a nose.

Jenny GG sees and hates you with an indomitable loathing

Unique portraits for any alien spawn! Baby uglier than sin? Immortalize it just in case the ugly duckling effect occurs decades down the line.

THUMBS DOWN.

“i just spelled out your name in listerine”

does anyone know the meaning of the above sentence?

if so please contact me

sometimes when i feel bad about my life i peel an orange all in one connected peel like meg ryan did in sleepless in seattle with an apple and i feel better

Kids not exploring their sexuality at a young enough age for ya?

No more complaints that Biff next door has cooties! We encourage the chilluns to start making out as soon as you can buy cute outfits for ‘em (and clip reflective butterflies onto their chins). So…birth.

Wow. Today we have a church advertising their disturbing Easter service and a way to get rid of my stretch marks while apparently staying pregnant. Because organized religion hasn’t managed to disturb me enough, and my profile is littered with keywords like “breastfeeding” and “trimester.”

Awesome.

Also, if I wanted to dress casual and enjoy a great cup of coffee, wouldn’t I just stay in my living room? If they really want to attract people, they should say “Dress in your bathrobe, panties optional, and enjoy the best vodka in town.”

Lastly, I know a great home remedy for stretch marks. It’s called birth control.

Wee! I am SNARKY today!